


Summer's End

by Rachael Sabotini (wickedwords)



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-06-23
Updated: 2005-06-23
Packaged: 2018-03-13 21:20:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3396758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wickedwords/pseuds/Rachael%20Sabotini
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A faded postcard of summer's ending.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Summer's End

**Author's Note:**

> Much thanks to elynross for her wonderful beta work. This story was written for the ["HL_Remix"](http://www.livejournal.com/community/hl_remix/) community's drabble challenge. Remixed from "Drabble Three: New Year's Drabble" by unovis.

From the summer solstice to the fall equinox, the northwest faded, the green leaves and rich soil baked and dried from the summer's heat. The cities were worse, teaming with tourists and locals, as everyone sought out water, whether it be rivers, lakes, or the ocean. He should have been doing his part, lying on a beach, kayaking out in the bay, sailing through the San Juans. Instead, he craved his own company today, an anniversary of sorts; the aching hollow of Richie's death awakened once again. 

Sunset gave a reddish glow to the sky, the lake reflecting just a hint of the color. As he walked around the path, Duncan looked up at the trees, seeing where the leaves had started to die, turning bright yellow and amber in the evening sun. Joggers and cyclists whizzed by him as he walked, too intent on their mileage to look at the trees themselves. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a flash in the sky; several small birds were harrying a red-tailed hawk, screeing out their warning of "Danger! Danger! Big danger here!" to anyone listening.

The kids in the rowboat noticed, but the cyclists, the rollerbladers, and the runners did not.

Gently, the wind ruffled the hair at the back of his neck and was gone, fickle autumn plaything. Duncan turned off the trail and headed back to the lake access road. There was a small restaurant just the other side of the street, a place that specialized in burgers and fish, fresh-made soup and warm bread; the building had seen better days -- its grey paint peeling in spots, the white trim dulled with an accumulation of dirt -- but it still felt warm and welcoming. They brewed their own beer, too, and had a small supply of local wines. It reminded him of Maurice's before it became a success.

The sense of Immortal presence washed over him as he neared the storm-battered building, and Duncan's steps slowed. Out on the patio, the summer's umbrella shades already closed against the predicted weather, he could see a familiar figure in an oversized, fraying-at-the-cuffs grey sweater, leaning back against one of the wooden chairs, waiting. His summer tan was fading, and his hair still glinted with captured summer sun, even while fall storms scented the air. 

He lifted his beer and smiled as Duncan drew close, and Duncan smiled in return. Methos uncoiled himself and stood, stretching, a flash of tan belly revealed as he moved. "Ready to go in?"

Duncan slid his arm in under Methos's shirt, his hand splayed across his back. "Yes," he said, then kissed the side of his neck as Methos arched into it. Duncan flicked his tongue over the warm skin and felt, rather than heard, Methos's deep contented sigh.

"Good. I'm starved." Methos nipped at Duncan's lips, wrapping his arms around Duncan's shoulders, pressing himself into Duncan's body: warm, lean, and strong, smelling faintly of beer, the truth of him filling the hollow place inside Duncan, at least for awhile.

Leaving his arm curled around Methos's waist, Duncan opened the front door and they went inside.


End file.
